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CONTACT Friend me on FACEBOOK Contents Perhaps I Should Breathe Now Exhausted Deep in the Night Shift and Return Through Clouded Eyes Dionizing Thought Unsteady Barometric Pressure return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top return to the top poems & stories Breathe Now Perhaps I Should Breathe Now By Phlip Arima the water I am floating in is still it and I are the same temperature the ceiling is only a few breaths away there is an indefinite possibility I might start to think the difficulty is deciding on a suitable subject schools have bars guarding their windows cameras look through titanium-infused atmospheric disturbances the music on the radio is hypnotic repetition names and numbers are always interchangeable sex is a risk I constantly take holding the genitalia of the big boys on the block phosphorus death lights the sky a socialist framework with a capitalistic attitude speak with eyes protected hide underneath over-stuffed pillows in the commercials all the women have double- jointed pelvises tender hands leave marks in desiccated flesh metal detectors line the doorways of classrooms the today in my mind has no external expression a chimpanzee without hair tells how it once was a light goes out a television turns on herb gardens in cities produce flavourless leaves the tofu I consume is mostly synthetic I open my eyes as far as they will go the muscles in my forehead spasmodically quiver I imagine they communicate with another dimension something that lives there taps into my thoughts perhaps I should breathe now every number contains a gig of information pharmacologically- hyped clones have replaced thinking people lingerie is made in every colour the ceiling is smooth impersonal opaque a bubble is trapped in the small of my back it's like a pet gerbil that does not squeak doesn't run in a wheel doesn't eat or excrete to give it value i must find it a name let the white collars stay stiff let the riot-cops shoot let the rope binding my elbows to my knees tighten like a snake constricting prey a kitten purrs all advertisements promise relief from some pain moving my toes creates tiny waves they bounce off the walls and return to their start they don't make much noise don't have any colour they stop being as simply as they became the music on the radio is saturated static these are my papers they show my infection within tolerable limits ten minutes alone is all we need knowing your name would be a quaint touch perhaps I should breathe uranium fallout stealth if I open my mouth the water will get in the sound in my throat will be trapped forever the hope that I harbour will turn a dark green the bubble moves the ceiling shifts hair from my body sinks through the water I want to roll over and watch it swirl it might make a pattern that has some meaning be subject for thought reveal a name suitable for a gerbil value is measured in american dollars teachers click televisions to blatant commercial thinly fleshed faces look up at the night satellites network with one another the today in my mind has no external expression all numbers succumb to one and zero a group of children torture the kitten bloodstained lingerie floats near my hand refugees eat photographs of homes they once loved the men in the commercials all use the same face perhaps I should breathe now kick and scratch and screech at the water tighten my fingers into threatening fists stand up in this box even if it means I crack my head outside the window gunships circle inside my mouth my teeth are aching my tongue is swelling the music on the radio is beat without rhythm all the pillows are crushed flat from years of abuse space stations in the sky represent progress the children giggle the water cools pressure in my ears forces my eyes shut my toes are numb with paralysis I am constipated and aroused I am hungry and frightened I am beginning to see the aura of all existence hope turning green I want to believe the promises are real perhaps I should breathe now the bubble has imploded my infection increases other dimensions are beyond my reality the numbers on my plate taste the same as poster paste the today in my mind has no external expression I have lost your name the kitten is dead commercials are remastered with digital sound deep in my bowels tofu turns sour there is an indefinite possibility I might start to think. Exhausted By Phlip Arima body lit red on bed the fantastic convoluted complexity of an empty singularity wire reinforcements beneath cheap lace shapeless anxiety dancing with eyes shut leather laces running up waxed legs the stale scent of desire trapped in the sheets whispered words bouncing back unheard a plant on the floor reaching for the window a majority rule without consideration for the individual a dollar buys a pound for not more than an hour a light grows dim a pen runs dry a percentage is paid for effective service she is called incredible she is promised a palace she is left alone without a hug one shadow turns to three turns to infinity the mirror by the door constantly distorts image does not reflect the thought the sound of groans echo back from other rooms every act is a trial the victim forever found guilty somewhere there is a memory that lifts and liberates a child once laughed while sitting on daddy's lap in a box near the bed is an award for good spelling at dawn there will be a short reprieve. Deep in the Night By Phlip Arima pre-dawn drizzle on a tattooed soul expectation amputated from faith inside a skin less innocent than old waiting for the angels to fall from the sky rapture and thrust high-strung and hard little things dying moaning in the crowd the heart seldom beats in rhythm with wisdom dreams like serpents twist with thought the nature of fire is to always consume high-strung and hard high-strung and hard inhale the fantastic cough and choke teeth can be broken chewing on hope in spiritual chaos angels die feel the storm slash through the crowd know that the gut can seldom feel just just rapture and thrust high-strung and hard inside a skin less innocent than old the inarticulate caresses cerebral anxiety listen to the voice of an urban world lonely concrete electric light hustle of a squeegee against cold glass something for throat something for vein something for under pulsating tongue expectation amputated from faith rapture and thrust rapture and thrust ideals are anchors slow to rust potential is myth future flux beat in rhythm dawn burns the crowd. Shift and Return By Phlip Arima if is the first word I learned to say I read my horoscope everyday this lottery ticket is going to win I can drink more than I could at ten the walls are thick all mirrors lie I walk like a robot I talk with machines all the virtues a few select vices the floor is long the ceiling is wide under my hat is synthetic hair mass advertising shapes my desire it looked good in the window it's guaranteed tell me a story I'll hear what I want each ache can be medicated if funds are available I pick out the breasts I'm going to get control-alt-delete I once saw a book with pages and ink my watch has a dial for every time zone this food was grown with twenty-two steroids these condoms taste like passion fruit a game of bingo begins every hour I had ice cream for breakfast cake for lunch nothing on the menu looks right for dinner I am listening for a sonic boom hit the return shift and repeat tell me a story I'll pretend to listen the sign on the door says this way out drugs are cheaper than buying new nerves I deposit my children in private schools these twenty-dollar coins are made of aluminum it looked good on the mannequin it's guaranteed I beat up a machine at queen and bay the walls get thicker the floor gets shorter plastic plants last longer than live ones I got my teeth at a second-hand shop the delete key on the wall is smooth and faded this lottery ticket is going to win the contacts I wear make mirrors look better I picked out the penis I'm going to get exit signs glow all through the feature today is the beginning of the end of my life I saw a religion that just might work the forecast for tomorrow has not been decided I have a condom stuck in my throat everyone says they like my hoarse voice smoking a cigarette makes me a rebel ten fewer pounds I'll look intelligent control-alt-delete my nerves are louder in lightless rooms I consider a loft in an underground building all the virtues a few select vices I sell my body for more than it's worth it looked good on the computer it's guaranteed tell me a story I'll repeat it better the walls get thicker the floor gets shorter if is the first word I learned to say I read my horoscope everyday a low pressure front slowly moves through the region get the eyes right see in fluorescent overwhelming information I tint my lashes to match my nails sexualize the moment to change its value hit the return shift and repeat wind rising stains on my underwear I blindly scrub a thirty-second spot swallow a list of affirmations all the virtues a few select vices contaminated rain feared and expected the delete key on the wall is smooth and faded I paint my lips thick the sun is turned off the screen refines apathetic disposition electronic relaxation increases the tension a low pressure front slowly moves through the region stiletto heels dogmatically march acid rain pits aluminum siding vinyl foundation perfects my face the creatures with property dig themselves in all the virtues a few select vices I lie in a puddle denying the dark count the threads in a designer suit sexualize the moment if funds are available I use extra-strength generic deodorant photocopy menus without permission fact verification is a futile task overwhelming information a professional manicure would make me feel safe I knot my tie straight rain to sleet a low pressure front slowly moves through the region personal power is a commodity I cannot afford the study of ethics is considered immoral the hungry forget it is crucial to hunt I polish my teeth the walls get thicker the dark gets denser a thin sheet of ice covers the puddle I add more conditioner to my hair if is the first word I learned to say I read my horoscope everyday each ache can be medicated to change its value all the virtues a few select vices the street is only a few steps away another credit card should arrive today hit the return shift and repeat each and every one of us is the enemy I saw my father watching from the mirror tension describes a complex pattern I feel the sickness at the edge of each eye my watch says the door will no longer open tell me a religion I will believe the parts I hear control-alt-delete I so want to sleep this lottery ticket has already lost overwhelming information the floor is gone the puddle is solid I download all the colourful designe catalogues key on the wall nerves as loud as a sonic boom. Through Clouded Eyes By Phlip Arima blood on the floor does not surprise blood on the wall does not frighten blood on the bed is basically normal a dog leaves its dirt on the moral high ground crates of food fall with designer bombs the name I was given is not one I use a nerve is cut to interrupt blush a nerve is cut to reorient shame a nerve is cut for fear control cannot be maintained rent paid with credit cosmetics with cash a beauty queen smiles in a soiled gown the dog returns to sniff its accomplishment the same commercial in a variety of colours the same commercial on every channel the same commercial selling different products a coke is swallowed every ten seconds high-paid diplomats haggle over prisoners brothels employ the uncrowned contestants. Dionizing Thought By Phlip Arima teeth-ripped nipples corseted in leather steel beast throbbing between my legs mercenary partner up and downloads wind sharp cold engine heats bliss disintegration makes children scream a long way from anywhere I want to be fine grains of sand cut into my face the established look on with immoral indifference subtle paranoia clutch and let go limited throttle control, rubber on road adrenaline licks from the edge of a memory, muscles contract across stiffening joints monstrous cherubs race toward me mimic the children with sardonic laughter taunting cackle disdain sneer I quickly disappear into opaque feedback an arid environment flirting with fire behind me I sense a half finished burial the skin that I bite smells familiar intense anti-intimate gistless sex the choking sensation just prior to crying starless sky as flat as the earth stock photos sell lust from polychrome billboards tailpipes burn a searing white in the distance I sense a psychotic break salt streaks back from the corners of my eyes review mirrors begin to crack feedback absorbs romantic desire hot razors entice every synapse wirelessly linked into the machine the memory races around my conscience I pray for vindication instead of escape the cherubs take on the guise of policemen body proud selfish horrifically pierced abuse will inspire the children to be violent fire starts to burn from a guilty hand I look from the road to left and right watch people disappear in infatuation see voracious creatures violently surface push the revs into the red loosening bolts near the ends of their threads wind sharp cold clutch and let go foreplay flirtation deionizing thought I pass the displaced hitchhiking on hope refuse the temptation to slow the engine reduce my needs to binary language vanilla comparison of silicon ideals control the machine through nerve-shattered circuitry the children grow cynical and drop into vanity chic punk feedback masochistic anti-emotional routine sex the memory expands my frontal lobe geriatrics look on with senile acceptance I lie on the tank and twist the throttle open my mouth to challenge the cherubs whisper the name I want to forget precision calculation of speed and matter sordid erotic aspiration, screams that are never fully mourned barely living scrub on both sides of the road wind sharp cold taillight dark I imagine an audience rioting for justice listen to the engine rise in pitch clutch and let go orgasm post-play deionizing thought the flesh that I chew has a texture I know overdrive hypocrisy brutalized trust fine grains of sand reduce visibility insects die against my lamp I skid from the feedback into reality speed wobble frame-shake fire from the billboards the cherubs attack with help from the children the memory I swallow will not be digested. Unsteady Barometric Pressure By Phlip Arima broken glass breath sacred shine screeching jazz glistening sweat hot with the sad-shake symphony which death to die today suffocation in the silent scream an aneurysm on the rush liquid blind and inhalant deaf rock-n-reggae-techno-roll tonguing blood from frigid diamond fatal nuance a pirouette in fashion flash all in white gone black city boxes towering steel the fast high feel bliss piss and night sweats and five hundred stations to choose from which death to die today catatonic helpless wish negotiating amphetamine memory coming on like the slow song at the end of a high school dance barometric pressure unsteady eternally searching the popular shroud brain lame and sexually haunted this is a religion that has no church this is a service subject to taxation this is a recording that will be repeated until the power fails which death to die today psycho-social orgiastic burn-out masochistic martyrdom stitched in a pattern that has yet to be designed a talk with god on a spook-tapped line randomly bookmarking every site on the web another drink of throbless panic hot with the sad-shake symphony bliss piss and night sweats and barbiturate dream kicking in like pseudo punk at an angry demonstration clouds of indecision barometric pressure unsteady choose a new diet a different cosmetic a colour that does not reflect the light which death to die today accelerated decadence decay coughed up through kill love dreams addicted to the repulsively attractive hallucinogenic visions of angels smearing distortion across the horizon like operatic euphoria on a flood-lit stage embrace the manipulating apparatus taste the corrosive kiss search for a partner that hasn't a face age name date place history is the score the music follows. a fantasy realized is a dead dream All content © 2024 Phlip Arima